


Untamed

by BennyBatch, SalamanderArt (SalamanderInk)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Bonding Rituals, Familiar!Loki, First Meetings, Frostiron Mini Bang 2020, Jarvis is Tony's horse, M/M, Magic Revealed, Minor Character Death, Monster Hunters, Secret Identity, Strangers to Lovers, The Witcher AU, Werewolves, Wingfic, Witcher!Tony, cat!Loki, magic tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23933158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BennyBatch/pseuds/BennyBatch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderInk/pseuds/SalamanderArt
Summary: Tony Stark, the Witcher better known as the Merchant of Death, travelled alone. At least that was the case until the day he picked up a stray - and Loki seemed keen on sticking by his side, no matter how high the cost may grow.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 188





	Untamed

They found each other by chance the night an old crone spotted him in the back crevice of an inn’s pub. 

She trudged up to him and offered a contract: hunt down and slaughter the monster stalking through the forests lining the nearby village’s southeastern border. The beast had killed five already, she told him, all men, and hot tears glistened in the corners of her eyes as she informed him that the last two were hardly old enough to call themselves men. He asked enough questions to glean that the only thing the creature took from its victims were the heart and liver, though their bodies were mangled almost beyond recognition. 

And, almost as an afterthought, the woman added that each death had occurred under the pale light of a full moon.

He held out his hand for money up front—a werewolf was no trifling matter. 

The woman, though, had other ideas. She spat at his shoes, her dirty, pockmarked face twisting in an ugly scowl as if she expected him to kill the beast out of the “goodness” of his heart, but he knew she did not believe there to be goodness in him, heart or otherwise.

Instead, he cocked a brow at her expression and flexed his fingers, drawing her gaze back to his extended hand.

Her face flamed, wrathful as she hissed, taking aim, “Here is your coin, _Witcher_.” 

A weathered coin purse thumped against his chest and tumbled onto the table, slumping pitifully. The woman, still fuming, watched as he gathered it up without a word, and, with his pockets half-full of coin, he abandoned his ale and set out on foot. He knew Jarvis would be safe in the stables until his return.

Twilight settled as he neared the edge of the village’s forest. 

Lifting his gaze, he noted the halo of a full moon as it bloomed across the expanse of stars. 

He worked his jaw, once again gazing through the trees. 

“…fuck.”

The moon illuminated his path as he trekked through the undergrowth, nearly as bright as day. At least he wouldn’t have to waste a sight enhancement potion tonight. Then, pausing by a fractured trunk, he scented the air.

Blood, thick and cloying, filled his nostrils. 

Fresh.

He sank into a crouch as his eyes panned to the left, fixated on a point just past a low-hanging branch, and he waited, ever the patient hunter. Suddenly, a howling cry pierced through the forest—crows startled, cawing and flapping as they took to the sky. Large raven wings erupted from beneath his cloak and, with one push, he surged forward, soundless amongst them as he blurred between falling leaves.

He finally came to a stop at the gnarled edge of a clearing. In the center, the werewolf fell with a gurgling croak.

_Fuck_. 

He narrowed his eyes at the hooded figure stooping over the creature—his mark—and grit his teeth as they nudged its limp chin with the tip of a glinting silver dagger. Apparently satisfied, the figure straightened. They flicked their blade, splattering blood in a black arc over the grass. 

That’s when he noticed the tail.

It flicked with the blades, long and sleek, much like the figure themselves, and as black as the abyss. 

Intrigued, he shifted closer—a twig snapped underfoot.

The figure’s hood slid back and two furry, pointed ears swiveled in his direction where they sat atop dark waves of hair; but the figure did not turn. Instead, it called out his name.

“Anthony Stark,” the low voice purred. And, turning, the man smiled at him, green eyes and sharp canines shining in the moonlight. “We finally meet.”

“How do you know me?” he demanded from the shadows.

The man’s grin widened. “Pray tell, who has not heard of the Merchant of Death?”

Tony hummed, a low, grumbling sound.

He should have guessed as much; the cursed moniker followed him everywhere, even now.

Stepping out from behind the trees, he flexed his wings as he entered the clearing, scowling when the man’s eyes, catlike, settled on them. They flared, arched and ruffled, but the man simply moved aside, gesturing toward the fallen creature with a sweep of the dagger still held in his pale hand.

“Collect your bounty, Merchant, I will not stop you,” he offered. 

When Tony appeared dubious, the man tilted his head, placating, “At least, I assume that is why you’re here. Consider it the first of many gifts from me to you.”

The grin and tail twitch that accompanied such a promise had Tony quirking a brow, but he said nothing as he strode past the man to take a knee by the fallen creature. It stared up at him, unseeing—gaping. Then, with one slick, decisive motion, he severed the werewolf’s head from its body. 

As he cleaned his blade against the grass, he could feel the man’s eyes boring into the back of his skull, making his feathers stand on end. Yet, even as he secured the head to the loop of his belt, the man said nothing. 

Tony inclined his head, assuming the silence meant that their interaction, however brief, was over.

When he stood, the head thumped against his thigh, swaying as he turned to reenter the forest without a word.

Twigs cracked behind him. 

He swiveled to level the man with a glare that would have sent any number of great men fleeing for the hills, but this one only smiled, green eyes sparkling in the pale moonlight. 

Tony turned again and quickened his pace. 

The man followed.

He tried to lose him along the twisting path, even going so far as to use his wings to dart ahead; yet, somehow, the man always managed to remain a few steps behind him, never out of sight long enough to lose him. 

So, with a put-upon sigh, Tony relented, and the man, giddy, pulled up to walk beside him.

The rest of their trek back to town was, on the whole, uneventful, the silence between them interrupted only by the soft shuffling of fallen leaves underfoot and the occasional coo of an owl. Before long, Tony spotted thin lines of smoke peeking through the branches overhead, signalling their closeness to the town and the warm fire of its inn. He lowered his gaze once more, eyes subtly cutting to his travelling companion. 

The man seemed unaware of his stares. He twirled his dagger while they walked. His tail twitched behind him as he swept over the boulders and fallen branches littering their path with an ease only a feline could manage, and paused in his knifeplay to smirk at him when their eyes finally met. There was...something odd buried deep within the man’s eyes, almost knowing, as if he could see into Tony’s soul—no, deeper, down to his core, to the very essence of everything he was and ever will be. It called to him, beckoning. 

He jerked his gaze way, grunting, “You haven’t told me your name, nor why you’ve followed me.” 

“You haven’t asked,” the cat smirked, eyeing a robin that startled from its perch as they passed.

Tony huffed and tugged his cloak over his shoulders, murmuring a well-used spell to shroud his wings from sight before asking, “What is your name, then?”

“Loki.”

“Loki. And why did you follow me, Loki?”

That same something from before flashed in Loki’s eyes at his question, but Loki blinked, shrugging it off.

“Let’s call it curiosity,” he replied.

“Hmm. Isn’t it curiosity that they say kills cats?”

Loki’s answering laugh sent thrills up his spine, and he swallowed when Loki stepped close enough to purr into his ear, “But satisfaction brought him back.”

***

When the werewolf’s head wetly smacked against the counter, the bar erupted.

All around him, hands reached out to grip his shoulders, squeezing, and a few even dared to slap his ass, thankful for the service he’d provided—hadn’t provided. He glanced at Loki, who was now sitting atop the bar, tail and ears hidden from human eyes, and hummed when all he found on Loki’s face was a knowing smirk.

At least he didn’t have to pay for ale that night, nor for the room he slept in. The only thing he paid for was the headache the next morning and Jarvis’s overnight fee.

On the gravel path leading out of town, he found Loki leaning against a fencepost, waiting for him, that same smirk from the night before playing at his lips.

Tony narrowed his eyes and ushered Jarvis forward with a short, piercing whistle and a quick jab to his hindquarters. Jarvis stalled and snorted, pawing at the dirt. Tony tried again but was met with the same result—Jarvis didn’t want to pass Loki by. He cursed his poor luck as Loki stepped up beside him, a pale hand soothing over Jarvis’s flank, calming the dappled horse immediately, then Loki walked forward and Jarvis, despite Tony’s tugging on his reins, followed.

The three of them had been inseparable ever since, though that wasn’t entirely from lack of trying on Tony’s part. 

Loki simply refused to be shaken. 

It was a week before Tony accepted his new, less lonesome reality and a month more before he grew to appreciate the cat’s company as they travelled the countryside, slayed beasts, made coin, and overstayed their welcome in oftentimes too quiet inns. 

If Loki ever disappeared overnight, or over the course of a few days, he found himself staring into the glaring hole his absence left behind. 

It agitated him, that empty space. And it irked him that it agitated him. He was fine before, so to have the cat disappear was like reliving his old reality, one he told himself he would prefer if given the chance to truly be rid of his constant companion, but the relief he felt upon Loki’s return...he’d never felt that before, not for anyone.

At least when the cat did return, he came back carting various trinkets from his escapades. He brought back golden circlets and armbands, modelling them for him, and Tony would be remiss not to acknowledge that they had their charms against his skin and dark hair; not that he would ever say so out loud. He also brought back satchels of dried herbs, meats, and coin he’d earned through taking care of quick contracts in the nearby towns and villages. 

His favorite of Loki’s offerings, though, had to be the claymore, for that was the day he learned who Loki truly was. 

Loki had been missing for three days at that point.

Tony’s agitation began when the sun set on the first day. By the second, he assumed the end of their adventures had finally come, and as dawn broke on the third day, he finally admitted that he hadn’t expected the silence. The loneliness, sure, but he was used to that feeling. No one ever stuck around him very long, not if they could help it, and now Loki knew better. 

Kicking at the dirt, he resolved himself to the fact that Loki’s departure was a matter of when, not if. The thought brought him some solace as he set up camp on the grassy shore of a small lake. 

Glancing at the shadows, he judged it was now mid-afternoon. Enough time to waste the rest of the day fishing for dinner in the buzzing silence.

He pulled his rod out of the satchel hanging on Jarvis’ side, and, rod in hand, he sat on a low, flat rock just by the water’s edge to cast the hook far out over the gentle waves. 

The sun was low, and he had his third fish on the line when Loki stepped through the tall grasses, startling his catch away.

With a furrowed brow and grunt, he threw his rod against the ground to not so expertly hide the rush of relief that filled him and lifted his heart at the cat’s return.

“You scared off my catch,” he growled.

Loki smiled, eyes shifting to glance over Tony’s shoulder where two fish sat speared on a makeshift pike. Tony knew that both fish were large enough to feed a single person. Hell, one was large enough to feed two people if they decided to share a plate, but he needed to cover up the heat stealing across his cheeks as Loki’s eyes returned to twinkle at him.

“How tragic,” Loki cooed, and as he stepped into his campsite, Tony caught the glint of something strapped to Loki’s back – the burnished metal end of a pronged dark leather hilt. Then, Loki turned to offer Jarvis a small, white cube, revealing the rest of the sheathed blade carefully tied to his shoulder and waist. Tony’s gaze trailed over gold thread winding up its length. Amongst the golden leaves, deep red chrysanthemums bloomed, its jeweled petals dripping like blood.

The claymore, for Tony knew a blade of such stature couldn’t be anything but, and its ornate scabbard very nearly dwarfed Loki’s slight frame.

Then Loki turned to him, freeing the blade from its bindings. He watched as Loki pulled the claymore from its sheath and winced as the cat allowed the scabbard to thunk and clatter against the gravel before he swung the blade around to pierce the earth. The blade parted the rocks, sinking smoothly, soundlessly into the dirt, as easily as if it were cutting through the finest cheese.

Tony swallowed.

It was a quality blade. 

Even as far back as he was, Tony could tell that this was not the kind of blade anyone could come by easily. He doubted if even the loftiest of nobles would offer up such a sword in exchange for some harrowing quest that would certainly end in death for most, bodily injury for the few. For Loki to come across it on the off chance?—impossible. There was only one way he could have acquired such a blade.

“Who’d you nobble that off of?” he demanded.

“Why, Anthony, I’m hurt,” Loki grinned, belying the mischievous smirk Tony knew lurked just beneath the surface as Tony stood to approach him and the sword. 

“I earned this fair and square,” he continued, tail twitching. “And besides”—Loki stepped to the side as he got close, allowing him to circle the blade. Tony trailed his finger over the hilt and marveled at its softness— "I got it for you.”

“Me?” he sputtered, head jerking up. 

Loki laughed at his reaction. 

“Of course. Such a weapon is far too large for me, and you know I prefer my daggers.”

“Why?”

“They’re lighter, faster,” he retorted, lips curling in a knowing smile when Tony rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean, Loki.” 

Tony sighed when the cat pressed against his side and wrapped a fluffy tail around his wrist. He managed to suppress a shiver as Loki purred into his ear.

“Do you like it?”

Tony gave a thought to deny it, but Loki had always been able to sniff out even the whitest lie, so instead he gruffly mumbled, “‘Course I do,” as he pulled the sword from the ground, appraising how its weight felt in his grip. It was heavy, but not terribly so. With the tip of the blade pointed at the ground, he lifted his arm in a smooth arc until the length of the blade was parallel with the ground. 

A good weight, and perfectly balanced. As all blades should be.

He bent down to scoop up the scabbard, sliding the blade back home, but paused halfway when Loki called out for him to wait.

“What is it?”

“I’ve not finished with it yet,” he explained, holding his hand out for it again.

Tony fully sheathed it before he handed it over, silently curious, but Loki gave no further explanation as he sat on the low rock Tony had once occupied and rested the sword over his lap.

When Tony raised a brow, Loki smiled and offered, “Prepare dinner first, then all will be revealed to you.”

Loki fell silent after that, and Tony knew Loki would tell him nothing else until dinner was made and steaming in front of him, or at least cooking if nothing else, so Tony began preparations.

The blunt edge of his short knife made quick work of their scales. He slid the blade over their sides and bellies, removing as much as he could before he cut the head away from the body, discarding it back into the lake to be consumed by its brothers. Then he punctured its belly, and with a swift push of his blade, the flesh parts beneath his fingers. As he gutted them, Loki shifted closer to watch, his arm brushing against Tony’s side. Tony knew him well enough now to know that Loki’s tail was twitching in anticipation, eager for an aquatic feast. 

He added the spices next, and his lip quirked when Loki’s tail audibly swished in the air, and he inhaled as he speared them with a makeshift pike. Even raw, the fish was aromatic. The spices mixed wonderfully, and Loki, too, purred at its scent.

Tony left Loki on the rock to place the pike near the fire already roaring on the north side of his tent. He angled it just so, allowing the fish to be smoked rather than flame charred; when he turned, he found Loki with his head bent, fingers splayed over the scabbard. It was only when Tony sat next to him that Loki began to murmur over the blade.

His fingers flashed green, bright and powerful.

Tony watched with bated breath as runes of some ancient language etched onto the blade, written by an invisible hand—Loki’s hand—in wispy green ink. One by one, they illuminated until the entire length of the blade was consumed in their light. And as the last of Loki’s murmurs passed his lips, the glow faded. No, not faded. It was absorbed. The blade drank in the runes like a man parched, desperate and gasping. 

Loki eyed him once the blade lay cold and grey in his lap, belying the enchantments imbued within its steel.

Then silence.

Somewhere along the lake, a frog croaked, cicadas cried in the trees beyond its shores as Tony stared, until, with a start, he realized what was obvious from the beginning.

“You’re a Familiar,” he breathed, and Loki surprised him by grinning.

“I had wondered how long it would take you. Based on your reputation, I had not thought you to be so thick,” Loki cajoled. He leaned forward to flick Tony’s forehead, but Tony heard the edge of trepidation marring his voice. It was uncharacteristic, and not a sound Tony liked to hear.

“You…” he began, but his words died in his throat as he frowned at the blade laying innocuously in Loki’s lap. His mind whirled.

When the silence wore on, Loki’s soft voice dared to break it.

“You’re wondering why I didn’t tell you,” he said.

“Yes,” Tony admitted, lifting his head to meet Loki’s eyes. “Why?”

“That day in the clearing...I thought you knew. I thought you felt it, that connection we have. It struck me just here”—Loki placed his hand over his heart, and Tony’s frown deepened, trying to remember— “Judging from your furrowed brow,” he continued, “you didn’t, or it was faint enough for you to shrug it off. I maintained hope, however, during that first week travelling with you, that it would spark.” Loki paused to grin, rueful. “But I learned that it might take a more direct method with you, something to catch your attention.” 

Loki gripped the hilt of the blade and stood before him. He bent down on one knee, offering the blade as if he were presenting it to a knight, though Tony was anything but.

“This is the fruit of my efforts, and,” Loki swallowed, “I hope you will accept it.”

Tony remained silent a long while, staring at the crown of Loki’s head. Then, with one hand on Loki’s shoulder, he lifted the blade out of the other man’s grip and gasped at the wealth of power he could feel hidden within its steel. His short time holding it previously felt lifeless in comparison.

This was a Witcher’s blade.

Imbued and strengthened with Familiar magic.

He had thought their race dead. Or, if not dead, then at least very well hidden in forests where elves rarely dwell, and mortals never enter; although all that really meant was that Familiars were coveted. They were rare, and thus they were hunted and caged. Of the few he’d seen during his travels, each was bound by some master, a warlock or sorceress, and used to bolster and further their master’s own ends, be it money, power, or longevity.

And now he had a taste for why.

He felt Loki move to stand by his side. He followed Tony’s gaze down along the length of the blade to where it pointed out over the quiet lake.

“Would you care to know a bit about the charms I’ve placed?” he asked, and Tony nodded.

“The first charm is here,” he said, sliding his fingers past Tony’s and over the base of the blade where it met the leather hilt. “ _Röskr_ ”—the rune lit up, radiating a soft blue light that illuminated the hallows of Loki’s cheeks—“It means sturdy and brave, intended to help you center your swing and bring balance within both the blade and you. _Stinner_ ,” he continued, the rune illuminating, “will ensure your blade remains stiff and unbending.”

Tony gazed down at the rune, brows furrowing when he noticed a smaller secondary rune glowing at its side. 

“ _Rof_ ,” Loki said, pointing at it, “pairs well with _Stinner_. Together the spell works to protect your blade against chips and gouges, negating the need for a whetstone. You could use one, of course, if you feel the need to blend in with those wielding lower quality blades as you had done,” he teased.

Loki continued down the length of the blade, each rune lighting up one by one as his layman’s account for each spell and charm passed his lips. 

When Loki reached the tip, he paused, and Tony thought his explanations were done.

He shifted his stance but froze when Loki’s pale fingers traced back down the blade to curl over the hilt, dangerously close to his own fingers.

“This last one,” he whispered, and Tony could feel his breath against the nape of his neck, “is by far the most useful.”

“What is it?”

“ _Hverfa aptur_. 

“ _Hverfa aptur_ ,” he copied, albeit poorly.

“Return.”

Tony’s brow furrowed, unsure of the rune’s meaning, and Loki smirked.

“Cast it into the lake.”

“You can’t be—no, of course you’re serious,” Tony sighed and shifted his stance. 

He arched a brow in Loki’s direction, patiently waiting until Loki backed up a safe distance before twisting at the hip. Adjusting his grip, he whirled back around and released. The claymore soared, pinwheeling over the water. A beat passed where Tony wondered if his initial estimation of the lake’s size was overstated before he heard the resounding plunk of the sword plunging into its clear depths, then all he could hear were ripples lapping at the shore.

Another uneventful moment passed before Tony looked over his shoulder to stare, unimpressed, at Loki. The cat, of course, returned his gaze with a smirk. Loki then held up his hand, palm open, and Tony copied the movement, nearly startling at the immediate rush of water that sounded as the sword shot into his waiting hand.

He gaped.

Loki laughed as he sauntered up behind him.

“Impressive, isn’t it?”

All Tony could do was nod mutely as he arced the blade and admired how easily the water wicked away from its steel without the need for a cloth. He wondered if blood would do the same.

“It is a spell of my own design,” Loki bragged, and Tony huffed through his musings, though he had to admit that, so far, Loki’s pride in his spells was well placed. Loki circled him as he continued, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, they all are, in truth, though this is the one I am most proud of.”

“I can see why,” Tony replied. 

He again shifted the blade, watching it glint, before he gathered up the scabbard to slide it home and tuck it alongside his other belongings, carefully hidden for the off chance an opportunist rouge wandered past but still within reach should he need to ward anything off. When he turned back, Loki’s tail flicked the air, and his left ear twitched. Trouble.

Tony looked back over his shoulder, peering down the dirt path, but he saw no one approaching, so he turned back. “What—”

“Payment,” Loki cut him off, and Tony’s heart clenched.

He should have known there would be a price attached. The claymore was too well made, the spells placed on it too valuable, but, despite all that, Tony had thought – had hoped – that this was a gift, much like the herbs and game Loki’s brought back for them in the past. And, after their months travelling together, he began to trust the beguiling man. 

How foolish.

He was just about to throw the sword down at Loki’s feet when he paused to watch Loki’s finger tap against his bottom lip.

Tony blinked. “What?”

A smirk bloomed beneath Loki’s finger. 

“A kiss,” he said.

“A…”

“That’s right. Come now, Witcher,” he cooed and crooked his finger in a come hither motion.

Tony’s face flamed, but he would be lying to say that he hadn’t imagined this very moment a thousand different ways, each ending sweeter than the last. Now he has his chance to make it reality. Steeling himself, he stalked toward the smirking man and gripped his chin, and he relished the gleam in Loki’s eyes as he angled his head down and pressed up to meet him, shivering at Loki’s answering purr.

“Now,” Loki whispered against his now kiss-bitten lips, “was that so hard?”

“Hmm,” he grumbled, grinning, before frowning when Loki pulled back to sniff the air.

“What is—” he started, but then he smelled it too.

Whirling around, his eyes settled on the fish spiked over the fire.

They were dark.

Too dark.

Cursing, he rushed forward to pull them back, doing all he can to salvage what little remains under the warmth of Loki’s laughter.

***

Written in large, scrawling letter across the top of the page, the notice began:

_For the Merchant of Death_ ,

_I require something of you, a service I know only you will be able to provide._

_Follow the southeastern path leading out of the city for two miles, then turn left by the signpost pointing into the gap between the trees. My home rests at the path’s end. Should you succeed, I will reward you handsomely._

There was no signature. No clue as to who left the note pinned to the city’s notice board; but whoever it was knew him, had asked for him by name, and that enough should have tipped him off.

Fuck.

They shouldn’t have split up.

They shouldn’t have, but as they approached the house, a tiny thing little more than a thatched hut, they heard something in the forest beyond the dilapidated garden fence, rustling and a shout, so Loki insisted, and Tony acquiesced. 

Divide and conquer. 

It was a solid enough plan, but that was before Tony had to retreat while clutching at a gash in his side left behind by his run-in with some hulking beast resembling a bear. And now Loki was nowhere to be found; their sanctioned rendezvous point empty.

He cursed under his breath and leaned against the closest tree to assess his wound.

Despite the copious amount of blood staining his clothes, the gash was superficial. His head thumped back against the trunk, relieved as a quick spell, something Loki taught him, easily mended his skin. 

When it had run its course, he squeezed his eyes shut, leaning more of his weight against the trunk as a wave of lightheadedness passed through him, and he swallowed down the bile burning at the back of his throat. He could almost hear Loki’s laughter. The infamous Witcher once again biting off more than he could chew where magic was concerned, not that he had a choice now.

He sucked in another lungful of air in preparation for pushing himself away from the tree when his entire body ran cold, his heart plummeting into his stomach as a scream, guttural and agonized, tore through the forest. He recognized it at once.

“Loki!”

Wings burst from his back as he hurled himself, stumbling, toward where he thought the sound came from. He can feel the new skin pull, but he ignored it. His eyes, frantic, darted through the trees, searching for a sign of a scuffle or a flash of green until—

“Stay where you are, Merchant!” a booming voice demanded and Tony paused under the low hanging, sweeping branches of a willow, his wings spread wide, feathers ruffled and fanned – threatening as he stared the man down. He stood with his back to the river bank, his face concealed by a familiar, garish metal mask. 

Tony followed along the line of the man’s extended arm, jaw clenching when he found his metal fingers tangled in Loki’s dark hair where he was forced to kneel at the man’s side. Even at this distance, Tony could see that Loki’s eyes were wide open in pain, his pupils thin slits as he hissed, choked, and clawed at the studded leather band cinched around his throat, his fear hanging heavy in the air – the taste of it metallic on Tony’s tongue. And as his gaze returned to that cold metal face, something clicked. 

He knew this man – recognized him from the rumors spread about an imitation guild manufacturing defective metal Witchers in the east.

Fuck.

Teeth bared, growling, Tony advanced on Doom, the failed Witcher turned sorcerer.

Doom raised his hand in response, palm open, but then he clenched it shut, and Loki’s lips turned blue as he writhed in Doom’s grip, gasping as the collar pulled tight.

The message was clear.

Tony pulled up short, and Doom lessened his grip. Loki slumped against his thigh.

“What do you—”

“It was a mistake, Merchant,” he interrupted, his voice grating on Tony’s ears. “No, a blessing, that you and the Familiar have not yet bonded.” As he said this, Doom pulled at Loki’s hair, making him hiss and arch higher to relieve the pain.

“Let him go,” he snapped, but Doom just laughed.

“You had your chance, Witcher – you wasted it. Now it is Doom’s turn,” he preened, “and I will be sure to use him _properly_.” 

Doom stepped to the right, dragging Loki behind him, and threw out his other hand. Magic, green, sickly, tinged with yellow and a poisonous purple, jolted from his fingertips and a portal, wavering and unstable, formed behind him, but then he stalled, glancing over his shoulder at him, appraising.

“I could bring you, as well, Merchant,” he began. “The Familiar’s magic will be much more potent with his true bondmate within reach, not that Doom would give you the chance to seal it. In fact—”

Doom droned on, but Tony stopped listening as Loki met his gaze – relief flooded him when he saw that familiar fire in those green eyes. They flicked down, Loki’s arm subtly sliding down his calf to where a hidden dagger glinted just over the edge of his boot, and Tony’s heart stuttered as he offered a subtle nod of his own, his grip tightening over the hilt of his blade. Then, in a flurry of motion, Loki reared back, drawing his blade and thrusting it into Doom’s side. It glanced off his metal body, shooting sparks. Doom roared. He whirled, the back of his hand cracking against Loki’s cheek, sending the cat sprawling to the ground, but it was enough of a distraction for Tony to push off with his wings, his claymore primed for the death blow.

Doom didn’t even have a chance to scream before Tony ran him through. He gurgled, blood bubbling over his lips as he crumpled, the claymore still embedded in his chest, and Tony abandoned them both to rush to Loki’s side, fumbling at his belt for his dagger. When he managed to grab it, he choked out, “Chin up, Loki.”

Loki did as he was asked, Tony making quick work of the collar. He hissed in sympathy when his blade nicked Loki’s skin, but Loki didn’t stir, and soon enough the collar fell away, laying limp in the grass.

Tony cradled Loki’s neck as soon as it was off. 

His thumbs carefully stroked over the angry red marks it left behind, his eyes glazed over with unshed tears as color returned to Loki’s lips and cheeks. 

“You – you alright?”

Tony released a shuddering breath when Loki met his gaze and nodded, then nearly choked on a laugh when Tony cupped his cheeks and said, “The next time you suggest we split up, I think I’ll be more adamant in my refusal.”

“Yes,” Loki croaked, leaning into his touch with a soft smile, “I think that’s a good ide—” Loki cut himself off as he surged upright to shove Tony aside, and Tony sprawled back, dazed, as a spear of magic whizzed through the air where his head had been to embed itself into Loki’s shoulder with a dull thud. It crackled, then dissipated, and they both stared down at the hole it left behind – Tony’s eyes wide, Loki’s growing dim as Doom gurgled one last snicker behind them. 

Then Loki fell.

It was as if the world fell away with him. 

Tony couldn’t hear anything, could barely sense his own movements as he scrambled to scoop Loki up into his arms where he then hung limp, his pale arms and dark tail sweeping against Tony’s thighs as Tony struggled to remember a spell, one that would take them home; but as he spoke, the ancient words came unbidden, whispered against the edge of his mind by a familiar voice.

He closed his eyes. 

The forest and stream slipped away, and the world shifted green.

  
  


They landed just off the shore of a crystalline lake.

Mountains formed a crescent around it, purple in their hue, and a cabin – their cabin – sat nestled amongst flowering trees and shrubs that were carefully arranged. Jarvis stood by the log fence line, nibbling at young grass shoots. He raised his muzzle in their direction, stamping his hooves, but Tony didn’t stop. 

He hurried up the wooden steps and shouldered the door open. It clattered against the opposite wall, rattling the paintings and rustling the coats that hung in the entryway. One of Loki’s scarves snaked to the ground, coiling in a neat heap. He moved past it, stumbling into the living room where he cleared the low table of Loki’s various candles and books with one wide sweep of his arm before he hastily laid Loki out over top of it, applying pressure to the wound in his shoulder. His fingers were soon as red as Loki’s shirt. Only then, with his chest heaving and heart pounding, did his mind begin to bombard him with _what if_ ’s, though it always returned to the one he didn’t want to ask.

What if there was nothing else he could do?

He closed his eyes and swallowed around the lump forming in his throat to force the thought away. He nearly jumped out of his skin when fingers brushed against his wrist, light as a feather.

His gaze jerked down to find Loki peering up at him through half-lidded eyes. His breath came in short, shallow puffs.

“Lo...Loki?”

Loki blinked slowly in response, so Tony took Loki’s hand into his own, holding tight.

“You need to tell me what to do, Loki,” he pleaded. “You _must_ tell me. Something – anything!” He squeezed his eyes shut, bringing the back of Loki’s hands to his lips, still squeezing as he sucked in ragged breaths. “Please…”

_Zap_.

Tony startled at the slight shock. His brow furrowed only to find the barest luster of amusement in Loki’s eyes. There was something else there, too, a spark of something deeper and more profound, beckoning Tony close while his green gaze penetrated down to his core, seeing and accepting everything. 

It was the same look they shared in the woods so many moons ago, though this one was... _more_.

He gasped – another shock, this time from within himself, buzzing against their twined fingers.

Suddenly, he knew what had to be done; what he should have done a long time ago had he not been so foolishly stubborn.

Tony turned away, though he didn’t release Loki’s hand as he scanned through the mess of scattered materials covering their floor. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but he knew when he found it. 

He snatched up a brush and an inkwell. 

Holding the brush between his teeth, he set the inkwell down on the table next to Loki’s arm and popped its lid, wrinkling his nose at the metallic scent it exuded. 

From this point, his body acted on instinct.

He dipped the brush in the ink and began to draw on Loki’s exposed skin. 

Black lines swirled and jagged in patterns he’d never seen before; yet, at the same time, they came so naturally, as if he were simply calling the pattern to the surface rather than painting it on, and he smiled when he felt Loki’s soft fingers begin to trail matching lines up his arms, and over his neck and cheeks. 

When they dipped under the hem of his shirt, he did the same. He discarded the brush to thumb ink over Loki’s hip bones as the ink covering their arms began to dry, shifting white. 

Moving up, tracing over pectorals, they circled their fingers around each other’s hearts, both gasping in tandem as the lines began warm against their skin, glowing blue, then green, like some endless forest or Loki’s eyes – glowing brighter and brighter until Tony had to shield his eyes.

When it faded, Tony blinked the spots away from his vision.

_Anthony_.

“Yeah?” Tony asked, then startled. “Loki? You’re alright?” 

But rather than wait for Loki to answer, Tony pushed Loki’s shirt up to appraise his shoulder and gaped when he found nothing but a smear of old blood and a white scar where the hole used to be.

“It...it worked,” he breathed, and Loki chuckled.

Tony laughed too, more relieved than anything else as he wrapped his arms around Loki’s waist and pulled him against his chest, burying his nose in the crook of Loki’s neck. Long fingers carded through his hair and lips pressed against his temple. Tony felt light, whole.

_Anthony_ , Loki said again.

Tony nearly answered, but he realized Loki’s lips hadn’t moved. Eyes wide, he lifted his head to stare at the grinning cat.

“Are we..?”

_Bonded? Yes_.

Tony huffed, awed.

When his silence stretched a bit too long, Loki looked nervous.

“Is that okay?” Loki asked, voicing aloud this time, and Tony beamed.

“More than okay.” 

Loki’s shoulders slumped, relieved, then he seemed surprised when Tony cupped his cheeks to tilt his head back, and Tony savored the soft ‘mmph’ Loki made as he claimed his lips.

When they finally broke apart, the sun sat just above the horizon. 

From the window, Tony admired how the lake reflected its warm light, pink clouds speckling its surface, while Loki prepared tea. Then, turning, he watched and listened as Loki set the kettle over a green fire, humming a Familiar shanty; and, for perhaps the first time, Tony no longer felt the weight of his sobriquet. Everything he ever was, what he could have been, paled in comparison to what he had now.

He found home.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> For the Old Norse spell words, I used this source: https://www.vikingsofbjornstad.com/Old_Norse_Dictionary_E2N.shtm
> 
> I, of course, took a bit of creative liberty to stretch meanings to fit my need for them, but I think I did alright xD
> 
> Find the art for this lovely piece on [Tumblr](https://salamanderink.tumblr.com/post/616951267488677888/heres-the-art-for-the-mini-bang-piece-i-made-with)!


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